


Emprise

by faithlessone



Series: Stormheart - (M!Trevelyan/Cassandra) [18]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Do You Want to Build a Snowman?, F/M, Fluff, Happy New Year!, Merry Christmas!, Picnic, Skating, Very much fluff, Winter fun, i hope 2021 is good to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28317510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithlessone/pseuds/faithlessone
Summary: Some winter fun in the snow with Cassandra and Brennan!
Relationships: Cassandra Pentaghast/Male Trevelyan, Male Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast
Series: Stormheart - (M!Trevelyan/Cassandra) [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756030
Comments: 11
Kudos: 12





	1. Snowman

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all have a very merry festive season, whatever you're celebrating. ♥

“Do you want to build a snowman?”

She stops in her tracks, certain that she must have misheard. Surely, the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, on a holy mission to protect the people of Sahrnia from the ravages of the Red Templars, could not have suggested _playing in the snow_. Not even if they currently happen to be all by themselves, the other members of their party having stayed behind by the roaring campfire while they scouted out the snow-driven route ahead alone.

Then she reminds herself that the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, is, at heart, just Brennan Trevelyan. Eager to bring joy, and to make people smile. Especially, as it happens, her.

Turning, she sees him bending to scoop up a handful of the powdery white stuff that covers the ground for as far as the eye can see.

“You cannot be serious,” she tells him.

He looks up at her, his grin turning mischievous. “It was a song my sister used to sing to me.” His voice turns light and melodic. “Do you want to build a snowman?”

She can’t help but frown. It sounds… familiar, but she cannot say she’s ever heard the words before. Perhaps it is one of the songs that Brennan hums when he thinks no one can hear him.

“Don’t you know it?” he asks.

“No.”

He scoops some more snow into his hands, patting it into a rough ball, and then begins to sing. “Do you want to build a snowman? Come on, let's go and play! I never see you anymore. Come out the door. It's like you've gone away!”

“This seems like a very strange song.”

Her tone must be sharper than she means it to be, because his grin slips a little, and he drops the snowball, brushing off his gloves. “It’s only a children’s song. About a girl who wants her sister to play with her. We didn’t get snow very often when I was young, but Evie always sang it when we did. The sister in the song won’t join in, she leaves the girl alone.”

She walks back toward him, slipping her hand into his in a sort of apology for her inadvertent slight. “I always preferred skating.”

The light comes back to his eyes. “Skating?”

“The river froze in the winter. Anthony took me ice-skating on it when we were children. With many others, of course. It was a popular pastime. Merchants would set up stalls on the banks, selling roast chestnuts and hot spiced wine.”

“Any of those little cakes?”

“Those too.”

He glances about, his hand tight around hers. “No rivers here, unfortunately. But plenty of snow. You’ve never made a snowman?”

Now that he doesn’t think she’s disapproving of him; he seems happier again. She shakes her head, smiling. Though there _had_ been snow, of course, and she remembers snowball fights with the other children, building forts with roofs made of wet twigs and other woodland detritus. But she can’t remember actually making a _person_ out of it. Perhaps others did, but not her.

He squeezes her hand, and then pulls away from her, taking a few steps off the path they had been tracking to a deeper drift. There, he starts scooping up the snow again.

“Do you want to build a snowman?” he sings.

This time, she lets herself laugh, following him and uncertainly scooping up a handful. It’s thicker than the snow she remembers playing in as a child. Somewhat… drier? It clings together where her fingers press into it. Perhaps it is her memory playing tricks on her.

It’s been so long since she saw snow as something other than an obstacle, an inconvenience. She can barely remember what it was like to look forward to the snowfall. To playing in it.

When she looks over at Brennan again, he is pink-cheeked and crouched in the snow, with a rough sphere in front of him that comes up almost to her knees. She adds her handful to the top of it, smiling when he helps her to pat it more smoothly into the surface. But when she reaches to scoop more, he wraps his hand around her wrist.

“That’s enough for now.”

She frowns. The lump of snow in front of them looks nothing like a person.

He laughs. “We’re not _done_. Now, we roll it.”

Dubiously, she moves next to him, and he shows her where to place her hands so they can start to push the ball of snow along the ground. It gathers yet more snow as they roll it, and he guides her in patting it down so the surface remains smooth and the packed snow remains dense.

When it has almost doubled in size, he stops them, stepping back to give it a considering once-over. It still looks nothing like a person to her, but she gives him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps there is still some sculpting to be done.

After a few moments more, he nods appreciatively and, turning, starts to gather up more snow. At her hesitation, he clarifies.

“We need two more balls. Like this one, but smaller, and then smaller again. Stacked on top of each other like this.” He uses his gloved fists to demonstrate, and the enthusiasm behind the motion is, frankly, adorable.

They set to this, rolling each ball in turn before stacking them. When the balls are piled atop each other, the structure is only an inch or so less in height than she is herself, which at least makes sense to her, proportionally. Now must come the sculpture, she thinks, although how the bulbous lumps of snow will remain structurally sound when they are carved to show legs and arms, she has no idea. Not to mention that the ‘head’ is _far_ too large to be proportionate.

However, despite her assumptions, he doesn’t seem to show any inclination towards removing _any_ of the snow. Indeed, he picks up a little more, packing it into the places where the snowballs meet, like glue. Next, he plucks two small bare branches from a nearby tree, roughly arm-length. Tools, perhaps? Though they do seem rather too weak and flexible to be much use.

Then he starts scrabbling about on the ground again.

“Can you find any little stones? About this big?” He uses his hands again, pinching his fingers an inch or so apart.

Stones? Perhaps _they_ are for the structural integrity? Although, now that the snow is packed tight, she isn’t sure how. Especially if he only wants such small ones. Nevertheless, she follows his example, crouching down to root through the snow in search of the desired little stones.

It takes almost longer to find them than it had to roll the snow. The ground beneath the white drifts is mostly bare earth, icy hard. She does not wish to bruise her fingers trying to dig through it, nor dull any of her weapons for the sake of a child’s pastime.

Even so, she brings each one she finds to Brennan for approval.

Eventually, he deems that there are enough stones. He hands her a small handful of them, but she hangs back a little, watching carefully as he begins to stud a line of them down the middle ball.

Ah, she thinks. Perhaps it _isn’t_ a matter of sculpture, but one of sketching? The stones are used for line art? But he does not continue down to the bottom ball. Instead, he holds his hand out towards her. She steps forward, proffering her own collection of small stones.

“You can do the face,” he says, a touch of pride to his tone. “Because it’s your first one, and everything.”

She hesitates. There are only a dozen or so stones in her hand. Not enough to really sketch out a face. She gives him a somewhat helpless look, and he dips his head, kissing her softly on the nose.

“Let me do a guide.”

Wrapping one arm around her waist to keep her close, he reaches out his other hand and pokes the ‘head’ ball. A hole in the middle, two more above it, and a sweeping semi-circle below. A crude ‘face’, but recognisable, nonetheless. She follows his motions, studding his marks with the stones.

“To be really accurate, we’d need a carrot for the nose,” he muses, as she finishes off the mouth.

She frowns. “A carrot?”

“Mmm. A whole raw one. Sticking out like this.” He demonstrates with his finger. “It’s traditional. Don’t ask me why.” Then he laughs nostalgically. “One year, Evie sent me to the cook for a carrot, for a snowman, but she didn’t want us to waste food like that, so she made me sit there and peel all the carrots for dinner to _earn_ one.”

“Hmm? And what did you learn from that?”

“Next time I wanted one, I made Tiernan sneak in and grab it while I distracted her asking for extra sponge puddings for the Satinalia feast instead of fruit cake.”

She swats him playfully. “Terrible child.”

He kisses her again, on the forehead this time. “As if you weren’t just as bad. I know Anthony used to distract your cook while you stole honey cakes. At least my carrot had a higher purpose.”

“As a nose?”

He kisses hers again.

“Exactly.”

Moving a little behind her, he pulls her backward against his chest, wrapping both arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. She rests her head against his, her hands falling to rest on his forearms as they both survey their handiwork.

“It does not… look very much like a man,” she offers, tentatively. She has certainly never seen a person, human or otherwise, with such curves. Especially one so weighted toward the bottom.

She can almost feel his grin as he tightens his arms around her. “I suppose the emphasis is mainly on the ‘snow’ part, rather than the ‘man’. Although it does need a face, of course. That’s important. I never really questioned the rest. He _would_ find it very hard to walk.”

“And he has no arms,” she adds, thoughtfully.

“Oh!”

He releases her with a startled jump, fetching the branches he had plucked and then discarded earlier on. Again, he uses his finger to make a hole, one on either side of the middle ball, before thrusting the branches in and packing the snow back around so they hold firm. One is a little higher than the other, but it seems not to bother him, so she doesn’t point it out.

Then he returns, slipping back into his previous position and hauling her back against him again.

“Better?”

The branches hang down like arms, the spindly bare twigs forming many more ‘fingers’ than she’s seen on any sort of person. She nods, twisting her head to press a kiss against his cheek, but catching his lips instead as he simultaneously has the same idea.

When they break apart, she laughs.

“What?”

“I understand why you like the song now. Snowmen. They are very… fun. How does the song end? Does the sister join in?”

He smiles, resting his head against hers again. “Not in the original version. In the original, the girl is all alone in a big house with no one to play with, and her sister never comes.”

“But?”

“There was a version where the sister came out, and they did build a snowman together. I liked that one more.”

She sighs happily, leaning back against him. “Is he done now? Or are there more things you have forgotten?”

He makes a considering sort of noise. “If this were my manor in Ostwick, or our Skyhold, I would add a scarf, and perhaps a hat of some kind. That’s traditional too. Evie used to cut the branch-arms back so woolly gloves would fit on the fingers. But we have to leave this one behind. And quite apart from the fact we don’t have enough supplies to be handing out scarves and gloves to snowmen, I don’t suppose it would be the best idea to leave them to go all rotten as the snow melts or the wind blows it away.”

She shakes her head, carefully so as not to disturb him. “I agree.”

“In any case, a snowman is more of an art than a science. There’s no real right way to do it, if you have the basics, of it being snow, and having a face. You just have to take the time to appreciate it when you’re done.”

Though she isn’t quite sure about this, she likes that he likes it, that they did it together. So she simply hums in agreement, and settles more comfortably in his arms.

They stand there for what seems like hours, but can only be a few minutes, admiring their snowman, with his carrot-less face and slightly lopsided arms. She relishes most the warmth of Brennan’s cheek beside hers, the security of his arms about her waist and the strength of his body against her back.

Finally though, he stirs slightly, lacing his fingers with hers and twirling her so he can look her in the eye properly. “Thank you for indulging me.”

She presses a brief, chaste kiss to his lips. “Thank you for sharing this with me. We’ve had so many new, terrifying experiences in the last year or two, it is pleasurable to have a new, happy one.”

His eyes light up again. “Have you ever done this?”

Without warning, he pulls away from her, nearly throwing himself backwards into the snow. For a moment, she is horrified, mind unconsciously turning to that excruciating night in the blizzard after Haven, his frozen body under hers in the tent, before he spreads out his arms, and she realises what he is doing.

“Maker!” she exhales. “I have not made a snow dragon in decades. Now _they_ are a Nevarran invention, I believe.”

He laughs, carefully fanning his arms to create the shape of the dragon’s wings, his legs curling slightly to form the body. “That makes sense. Dragon hunters, and all. It’s… uh… _colder_ than I remember it being. And, uh, further down. I may need your help to get up, or I’m going to ruin it.”

She laughs too, stepping up beside him and offering a hand to hoist him up. With no small amount of care, he makes the track of scuffling footsteps that form the tail of the dragon, and then leaps away, leaving the impression behind in the snow.

“Much bigger than I remember too,” he says, grinning as he brushes the snow from his shoulders.

“I should hope so!”

“You should make one too. Next to mine. A pair of dragons in the snow.”

He might have made it sound like it was a joke, but if there was one thing she knew for a fact, it was that Brennan often disguised the things he cared most deeply about by making fun of them. Besides, she had enjoyed making snow dragons as a child. It had practically been a Pentaghast family tradition. She remembers Anthony making them beside her; her uncle too, even, one winter day when she was still very young and he was in a particularly good mood.

She steps delicately to the side of his, raising her arm to judge how wide her wingspan will be. Then she lies down in the snow. Just as he had warned, the snow is freezing, leeching through her metal armour and the quilted fabric and leather beneath, all the way to her skin. When she fans her arms, the snow resists more than she expects it to, and she almost doesn’t remember to bend her knees before she sits back up.

He reaches out a hand to her before she asks, helping her gracefully to her feet and steadying her while she tracks in the tail, before sweeping her off her feet so she doesn’t ruin the picture. She can’t help but squeal as he does so, throwing her arms around his neck.

From this vantage point, she can see the pair of dragons just perfectly. She hadn’t judged her wingspan quite well enough, so her right wing just touches his left wing ever so slightly, but somehow that makes the picture even sweeter, at least in her eyes.

“Quite beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Beautiful,” he echoes, but when she glances up, he’s looking down at her, not the snow.

She feels the blush that spreads across her cheeks, and hopes he’ll take it as a symptom of the cold air that swirls around them and not the heat that burns through her veins at the look in his eyes.

(This situation, with the snow and the open air and the being on a public road where anyone, including but not limited to, Vivienne and Varric, could find them, does not lend itself to doing what she would like to do with that look in his eyes.)

Even so, he bends his head and meets her lips, pouring far more feeling into the kiss than she is rather capable of dealing with at this precise moment. She shivers against him.

When he pulls back, it is to whisper against her lips. “I think we need to warm up, don’t we?”

“Mmm,” is all she can reply.

“I have… one or two ideas,” he continues, in that damnably low and soft murmur. “Do you trust me?”

Much as she wants to tell him off, she’s powerless against that voice and those particular words, as well he knows, so all she does is echo herself.

Gently, so gently, he lets her down, holding her against himself until her boots are back on the solid snow beneath them, her arms still around his neck. Then he reaches up, slowly lacing his fingers with hers and manoeuvring her until they are standing face to face.

“Close your eyes,” he says softly, and she does, without a second thought.

She feels him pull away from her hands, and hears the sound of his knees hitting the packed snow. For a single moment, she thinks that he might be…

But then he rises, and something icy cold and wet detonates above her head, showering her with what is unmistakeably more snow. Her eyes fly open on impact to reveal Brennan with a guilty but mischievous grin on his face, already scooping up another handful of snow.

“You… You!” she yells, shivering again, though for quite a different reason.

“A snowball fight,” he says, with a tone of guileless innocence. “What did you think I meant?”

She thinks for a moment about immediately just tackling him into the snow bank behind, but the game would be over far too quickly. If he wants a snowball fight, she will give him one. So, instead (and careful not to disturb either the snow dragons or their snowman), she darts toward the trees, scooping up snow as she goes.

“Cheater!” he calls after her, but there is no malice in his voice. Instead, he sounds positively gleeful at the fact that she is joining in his game.

They both take advantage of the small lull to make an armful of ammunition, but he is faster than she is. He sneaks over to her position, so stealthily that she doesn’t notice he has moved until he is well within range. A snowball bursts on the tree behind her.

“Missed!” she calls out, picking up a ball and flinging it at him.

He dances almost far enough out of the way, returning fire as hers explodes against his shoulder. This one misses her again, though by a much narrower margin. From there, as with all their sparring matches, it’s on. They find their flow.

She has better aim than he does, which doesn’t surprise her, but he is far faster at making snowballs and has an uncanny knack for sensing which direction she’s going to go next, which helps.

Time passes. Probably more of it than she notices, given the rate the sun seems to move across the sky, but she is determined to win their match.

Finally, she spots her opening, as he ducks down behind a rock to make more ammunition. Abandoning the piles she has been darting between, she charges towards the rock, vaulting over it and landing on top of him.

Triumphantly, she rubs the single snowball she had been carrying into his hair, leaving it dripping wet and tangled. He returns the favour, smearing his own snowball across the back of her unprotected neck, grinning as she pushes him down into the snowbank, straddling his waist.

“Truce?” he asks, smiling hopefully.

She shakes her head, a grin shining on her face so he knows this is still part of the game and he hasn’t upset her.

“Yield.”

He lies back, resting his hands back by his shoulders. She leans forward, capturing his hands.

“Yield,” she repeats.

“Make me,” he replies, chuckling.

Using his hands for leverage, she leans down, kissing him into submission.

“I yield,” he breathes against her lips.

She pulls back, looking at the picture of him beneath her; snow in his hair and all over his coat, some of it melting, but most stubbornly sticking, especially around his shoulders. Releasing his hands, she reaches for a little more to add to the effect, but he doesn’t move, simply lying still with a dreamy smile on his lips, letting her pile the snow across his chest and stomach.

An idea occurs to her.

Unable to find any small stones from this position, and distinctly unwilling to move to find them, she settles for rolling up the tiniest snowballs she can make and studding them down the centre of his chest, mimicking the actual buttons that lie beneath the snow covering.

Turning her attention to his face… she isn’t sure what to do. She doesn’t want to cover that in snow, partly for the selfish reason that she doesn’t want to lose his face but more for the important reason that she doesn’t want to bring his temperature any further down than it has been already.

While she debates, his eyes flutter open.

“What are you doing, my love?” he asks.

“Building a snowman.”

“Oh?” he asks, casually.

She hums in confirmation.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Smiling wider, she hums in confirmation again.

“Better than ice skating?”

At this, she hums again, but in a considering way instead. “I don’t know. We’ve never been skating together.”

“I hear there is a river in Sahrnia that is frozen solid.”

“Oh?” She doesn’t remember this from the briefing, but it does pique her interest. “But we have no skates.”

“I’m sure the scouts can dig a couple of pairs up. They’ve found stranger things for us, I’m sure. And after all those requisitions I’ve filled, we deserve it.”

“Quite so.”

“So we should go back to camp, so we can all make it to Sahrnia as soon as possible.”

“Quite so,” she repeats.

He hesitates for a moment, making no attempt at movement as she is still on top of him, also making no attempt at movement.

“What are you doing now, my love?” he asks.

“You said a snowman needed to be appreciated. So I am appreciating my snowman.”

He gives her a soft, soft smile, and then shifts his knee, knocking her forward. “This snowman would like to appreciate his builder too, if he’s allowed?”

(She kisses him. Long and sweet.)


	2. Skating

They spend the last full day before leaving Emprise at the Sahrnia camp; resting and making final preparations for the comparatively short journey back through the Frostbacks to Skyhold.

It has been a very successful expedition. They have liberated the people of Sahrnia from the Red Templars, defeated a dangerous demon and claimed yet another keep for the Inquisition. Not to mention all the myriad of smaller mysteries and personal issues that have been solved by Brennan, as usual.

She thinks Brennan himself would be hard-pressed to decide which has been his favourite achievement in the region: defeating not just one, but _three_ dragons that had been terrorising the people and blocking a vital trade route, or securing the services of one Michel de Chevin, a former Chevalier, for the Inquisition.

Presumably the latter, she assumes now, given that she woke alone in the camp this morning, and has not seen her love for more than three hours since. The scouts, who are somewhat… skittish, have assured her that he is making his own preparations, and has promised to return before lunch. They even gave her a note in Brennan’s own hand, telling her that he is consulting with Michel, and not to worry about him.

It is all very suspicious.

But she waits, either way. She has no shortage of tasks to occupy her time, including checking on the supplies for the journey, packing them securely, and seeing to her armour, weapons and belongings. The morning flies past in a surfeit of duties.

Before she knows it, the sun has almost reached the midpoint of the sky, and a strange noise, somewhat like… _giggling_ , fills the air behind her.

Steeling herself for whatever nonsense she might have to endure, she turns.

And finds… Brennan.

Thankfully, he does not seem to be the source of the giggling. That, she will blame on the two scouts behind him, clinging to each other’s hands with expressions of near _rapture_ on their faces, beaming both at one another, and at her. Brennan himself looks merely slightly awkward, in his usual endearing way. She knows that look, by now. The look that means he has had an idea, and is unsure whether she will approve of it or not. His arms, she notes with no small amount of concern, are tucked behind his back, and one of the scouts cannot help but keep glancing at whatever he is holding behind himself.

(At least, she _hopes_ that is what the scout is looking at.)

“Out with it,” she says, trying to sound as neutral as she can.

His face splits into a grin as he reveals two handfuls of… straps and metal? They look like parts of a horse’s tack, though she cannot imagine for a moment why he would be so nervous or excited about showing her that.

Noting her confusion, though, he put one of the handfuls down on the ground, and shows her the other, separating out the two pieces.

“Skates!” The word bursts from her without her permission.

His grin widens almost impossibly.

“I told you the scouts would be able to find a couple of pairs for us. It took… a little longer than I was hoping, but…” he trails off, offering her the pair in his hand. “I checked with some of the people in town, and they say these are good ones. Tipped with silverite, on the blade, here, see?” He reaches out, running a gloved finger against the flat of the blade. “So they won’t blunt as easily. Which I hear is a bit of an issue.”

She measures them against her hand. So much bigger than the ones she remembers from her youth, but, of course, her feet are bigger than they were then too.

“So…” Brennan offers up, nervous, and she realises that other than a single word of exclamation, she hasn’t yet spoken.

“They’re perfect,” she says, and, despite their audience, (who are still clinging to and beaming at one another) leans in to kiss him. He returns the kiss, hands resting on her waist, keeping her close for a handful of extra seconds.

“Josette, in the village, showed me how to put them on,” he tells her, stooping to pick up his own set, his voice betraying his nerves again. “But I supposed, as I was privileged to witness you learning to make a snowman, you might like to see my first, no doubt very stumbling, steps _in_ the skates.”

At this, her heart swells again, but she restrains herself, simply smiling at him.

“In which case, should we go down to the river?”

He nods, his grin returning.

With a smile of acknowledgement and a few words of thanks to the overjoyed scouts, they descend through the camp towards the gates of the village, and out onto the river bank.

Snow begins to lightly fall as they reach the edge of the ice. Brennan looks up at it, half-forlorn.

“Oh! Will this… does it matter?”

She shakes her head. “It will barely settle. I do not see why it would make a difference.”

His smile returns.

They sit down on the wooden barricades to strap on their skates. The design is not so different to the ones she remembers from Navarra. A single long blade, a little longer than her boot, attached to a piece of wood with leather straps that she secures firmly around her foot. Once they are both fastened, she pushes herself to her feet, checking her balance. Though it has been… _far_ too many years since she last donned skates, she finds that her feet remember how to stand in them.

She considers stepping down the last few steps onto the ice, and then turns to Brennan. Though he says he was shown how to put them on, he has the straps tangled around each other, and the one that he has managed to secure, somehow, is on back to front.

Kneeling in the snow with only a little difficulty, she stills his hands.

“Let me.”

His cheeks are pink from more than just the cold, she assumes, but he lets her remove both his skates and put them on properly. When she has finished her task, he offers her his hand, helping her to her feet, and then takes both of hers to hoist himself up.

She isn’t sure what she was expecting, but his balance is… not terrible. There are a few wobbling moments, but before too long, he is capable of standing still on his own two blades.

Then they begin to move.

The frozen river is only a step or two away from where they sit, and she takes it slowly. Perhaps skating was a bad idea. It would be terribly inconvenient if the Inquisitor were to break an ankle or a wrist on his last day in Emprise du Lion.

But he manages it.

His glee at stepping onto the ice and not immediately falling on his face is almost incandescent, and she can’t help but share it.

“You were right, this is fun!” he tells her, lifting his skate and stepping again a little further onto the frozen river, one of his hands firmly in hers.

“Perhaps you could try actually _skating_ , next?” she suggests.

His face falls a little, clearly only now realising his mistake. “I may need a demonstration.”

“Will you be able to stand if I let go of you?”

He tests this, slowly releasing her hand a finger at a time until he is standing unaided. Then, with the rest of his body remaining almost unnaturally still, each of his muscles tensed with the effort of it, he nods, smiling.

Again, though it has been many years since she last skated, the motion of it is still kept somewhere deep inside her muscles. The surface of the icy river reminds her of the Minanter, where she had learned to skate, holding onto both of Anthony’s hands as he glided backwards.

Her feet remember the rhythm, sliding against the ice one by one. Not as swiftly as she thinks she _could_ , not wanting _him_ to get too over-optimistic, but smoothly enough to please herself. Before she knows it, she has reached the rocks that jut up in front of her, blocking their view of the island where they found one of her Seeker targets.

She turns back and sees Brennan, his hands immediately lifting to applaud her. Then, with a surge of confidence, he pushes forward on his left foot, looking to copy her.

It is… _almost_ a success.

Unfortunately, while his left foot pushes forward, he forgets about his right, and ends up skidding along the ice with his legs far too far apart for comfort, arms windmilling as he tries to regain his balance. All too soon, he pitches forward, forearms breaking his fall as he clatters to the ice.

Restraining her smile, she darts back toward him, already sitting up on the ice, a betrayed expression on his face.

“I wasn’t expecting it to be so… slippery,” he says. “Isn’t that what the skates are for?”

She tilts her head. “How would the metal slide against the ice if it were _not_ slippery?”

He opens his mouth to argue back, then a veil of understanding crosses his face, and his cheeks colour again. “I suppose you are correct. As usual.” Then he reaches out his hand, the grin firmly back on his face. “Might I trouble you to help me up?”

She steadies herself, and then hoists him to his feet once more. This time he tests the slip of his skates against the frozen water, moving in small, slow, shuffling steps, holding tight to her hand. Not quite skating as she knows it, but a good halfway point. She is certain he will learn in no time.

“Did you have a plan, or did you just want to take me skating?” she asks, after another few minutes, as they manage, slowly, to circumvent the rocks and come closer to the island.

He falters a little.

“I do not mind if you did not have a plan,” she clarifies, with a smile.

“Oh, I do, I mean, I did have a plan. To be honest, I thought the actual skating bit might go a little faster, or a little easier at any rate, but… The rest can be adjusted, if you don’t mind a slightly later lunch?”

She shakes her head. “I do not. What did you have in mind?”

He gives her a warm smile, fingers flexing against hers. “Can we just take it… one step at a time? First, I was hoping we could make it all the way to that frozen waterfall. It looked so romantic last time we were here.”

Remembering the last time they were at the frozen waterfall, she frowns.

“Did we not close a rift in front of it? The one with all those despair demons?”

He chuckles softly. “I know, but the way the rift light was playing off the icicles was rather beautiful, didn’t you think?”

Mostly, she remembers trying very hard to impale demons that were capable of disappearing into the ground and reappearing behind her, while Vivienne yelled at Brennan to stop using fire spells or the ice would melt beneath their feet.

But he had found it _beautiful_.

Of course he had.

They make their way towards it. By the time they have passed the island, and the waterfall is within sight, his skating has improved. Or, at least, it has become somewhat smoother. His hand still remains tight in hers, unwilling to let go, even for a moment, though how much of that is him needing her for balance, and how much is him just wanting a connection to her, she is not sure and does not care.

“See?” he says, when they draw close enough. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

She looks up at the vast expanse of tumbling water, frozen into trickles and rivulets, sparkling in the sunlight. Now that nothing is trying to kill her, there _is_ a certain… elegance about it that she hadn’t seen before.

As she’s looking up, marvelling at the way the water seems to have hardened in mid-torrent…

There is a sudden movement behind her.

Forgetting where she is and what she’s doing in an instant, she drops Brennan’s hand, spinning on her skate and drawing her sword…

Which isn’t there.

In her excitement about the skates, she had completely neglected to put her sword-belt back on.

Luckily it is only a pair of snoufleur, running across the frozen surface. Her heartrate slowly returns to normal, and she glances at Brennan, who is giving her a soft, comforting smile.

“I… I can protect us. I promise.”

It’s only then that she glances down, seeing the sparks still pulsing around his fingers. He is right, of course. She remembers the first day he was released from the jail cell, picking up a staff on a different frozen river on their way to the forward lines against the Breach. How frightened she’d been at the sight of it – this man, this mage she didn’t know and didn’t trust, raising a weapon behind her back. Then the way he’d told her, calmly and frankly, that he didn’t need a staff to be dangerous. He had been right, of course, and she has no doubt that he is many times more capable now than he had been then.

(He doesn’t need to be reminded right now that she has a pair of daggers in her boots and even without them, she wouldn’t be defenceless either.)

Instead, she only nods.

He reaches out his arm again, and this time she doesn’t take his hand, but tucks her arm through his, using him as a counterweight to draw herself close.

“Thank you.”

“Hey, knight in shining robes, remember? _Your_ knight in shining robes. And skates, today at least.”

“Very dashing,” she assures him. “Has the waterfall worked its spell yet?”

He leans in, brushing his nose against hers before he kisses her, his arms wrapping around her waist and half-trapping her against his body. She leans as much of her weight against him as she dares, one hand slipping around his neck and the other gripping tight to the front of his coat.

When they eventually break apart, his lips are kiss-reddened and his cheeks are flushed. She can’t imagine she looks much different, and the thought makes her smile, which makes him smile, which makes her smile wider. A feedback loop of happiness.

“This is what I wanted to do the first time we were here,” he tells her, voice a little breathless. “I imagine you would have punched me if I’d tried.”

She narrows her eyes slightly. “I suppose that it rather would have depended on whether you had tried before or after we had closed the rift.”

He lets out a short laugh. “You definitely would have punched me.”

They lapse into silence again, sweet and companionable, before he starts to grow restless again.

“Onto the next part of my plan?” he asks.

She nods, and then, after a beat, “are you going to tell me what it is?”

He glances out onto the ice behind them, looking towards the island, to one side of it and then the other.

“I was planning on taking the longer way back, right round the tower, but… do you mind if we go the short way instead? I promise you can have more skating time after lunch, should you desire it.”

She cradles his cheek in her hand. “More time with _you_ is all I desire.”

Something in his expression goes so molten that for the space of a single moment, she is afraid the ice will indeed melt under their feet, and the waterfall will suddenly start to surge again, but, of course, it doesn’t. That would only happen in one of her distinctly less reputable novels.

Instead he kisses her again, slow and thorough, until she starts to fear instead that her legs will no longer hold her up on her skates, and then pulls back, turning them back towards the island.

“The short way it is.”

They go back the way they came, past the island, but instead of heading back toward the barricades and the gate into the village, he turns them slightly east, skimming along the edge of the rocky cliffs, towards a little patch of thick snow at the top of another frozen waterfall. Here, he draws them to a stop, shooting a little flash up from his fingers that explodes far above their heads in a plume of bright, almost fade-green sparks.

She frowns, and he gives her an awkward smile.

“Didn’t know how long we’d be. Didn’t want anything to get… spoiled. Or eaten. That would have been a great pity.”

Within half a minute, the two scouts from earlier come around the corner, one bearing a large lump of canvas, and the other a heavy-looking basket. He thanks them, taking both objects from them and returning to her. The scouts take an extra few seconds to leave, both still giggling.

“You are popular,” she tells him, eyes flicking after the now departing scouts.

He glances over his shoulder, watching them for a moment before looking back at her, a frown creasing his brow. “I think you’re the popular one. Or, we’re the popular ones, perhaps. It appears that word has spread. About us, I mean.”

“Oh?”

She still isn’t sure if the idea of the whole Inquisition, the whole world, knowing about them, is a good thing or a bad one. This does not help her decide. But, she supposes, if their love story is making other people happy, it cannot be _terrible_.

He goes back to the top of the waterfall, awkwardly trying to manage the basket and spread the canvas out on the snow. She steals the basket from his arm, and he shoots her a grateful glance.

When the sheet is spread, and a blanket, concealed within, is spread on top of that, he takes the basket back and gestures her down onto the blanket. Once she is settled, he sits down beside her, the basket on his other side.

It reminds her of their first date, and she tells him so.

“Somewhat fewer flowers, and candles,” he says, grinning. “Unless you want armfuls of Arbor Blessing or Rashvine Nettle, which I doubt you do. I thought about bringing some candles, but the logistics…”

She reaches out, stopping his mouth with her fingers. “I am more interested in what you _did_ bring, than what you did not.”

He takes her hand in his own and tilts it so he can lay a kiss against her knuckles, his thumb running across her fingers before he places it down on the blanket between them. Then he turns, opening the basket and withdrawing several items from within it.

“First, because it is _most_ important…”

A pair of bone cups are the first things to be removed. He hands them both to her, before retrieving a metal carafe, which he holds between his hands for a few moments. The tell-tale hiss of fire magic issues from his fingertips.

“I did think about using one with a rune on it,” he says, a touch bashfully. “But this is a _little_ more impressive. Cup?”

She holds out the cups, and he opens the canister, pouring a healthy measure of dark red liquid into each. A few curls of steam emanate from the surface, and she brings her cup to her nose, inhaling deeply. Just as she had suspected, the scent of fruit and spices fills her nostrils. Not quite the same mixture as the wine she remembers from her childhood. That had been a little sweeter, a little more honeyed, but this actually appeals to her more.

Her eyes drift closed as she sniffs, and when they open again, she finds him watching her, closely, an uncertain smile on his lips.

“It’s perfect.”

He takes a breath. “Thank the Maker. Because you said there was hot spiced wine. I wanted to make this an authentic skating experience for you, but there aren’t any roast chestnuts. The scouts looked, but they don’t grow here, and I was going to have some imported from the Free Marches, but… well, we would have had to delay our journey back so they’d get here in time, and I was fairly sure if Josephine found out I delayed our return for culturally-appropriate snack food, she would have my head. I _did_ manage to get hold of that game pie that you like, even though they didn’t have any of the chicken ones, and some spiced cakes with honey drizzled on the top, in lieu of the Nevarran ones. When we get back to Skyhold, I’ll make _sure_ you get the roast chestnuts. And the proper cakes.”

She lets his words wash over her, basking a little in them. How long has he been planning this? How many of his discussions with the scouts, which she had assumed were about requisitions, were actually about this?

“This… _this_ is perfect,” she assures him, hand finding his across the blanket again.

He gives her a soft, grateful smile, bringing her hand to his lips again before spreading out the food. Aside from the pie and cakes, there is soft bread, and her favourite cheese, and all manner of other treats. A singular banquet, especially in the open air, with the snow gently fluttering around them…

They eat in lazy, companionable half-silence, occasionally remarking on the taste of the pie (her), which is as delicious as promised, and the snow that collects in her hair (him), which he swears looks like stars in the night sky.

Another snoufleur approaches them when the food is all but finished.

Brennan tosses a crumb of pastry and meat filling towards the creature, who snuffles inquisitively at it for a moment, and then licks it up from the ice, before looking towards them hopefully for more.

“You will never get rid of him now,” she remarks idly, handing Brennan her own finished and scraped clean plate so he can stow it back in the basket.

“That wouldn’t be so bad. We could take him back to Skyhold.”

“Josephine would have a _fit_.”

He grins, and she gives him a fond but warning glance.

“That is not a good thing, Brennan.”

Sensing that there is no more food forthcoming, the snoufleur settles the whole matter by scampering off to bother some optimistic ice-fishers on the other side of the rocks instead.

Brennan sighs, reheating the wine with his hand and then refilling their cups. 

“So, what else did you do in winter, in Nevarra, aside from skating?” he asks her. “When you were growing up?”

She tries to think. It feels like so far away, like another lifetime.

“Long ago, winter was the traditional time for dragon hunting,” she tells him, leaning back on her elbows, her thigh pressed alongside his. “It was said that the dragons were slower then. In the cold and the dark. Easier to fight, to kill. After the hunting, it was traditional for balls to be held, to celebrate. Hunt balls. As the years passed, and dragon hunting stopped, the balls continued. They were still called hunt balls, of course. But more for the aesthetic than anything else.”

His eyes are lit up, and she remembers how much he had enjoyed watching his Great-Aunt Lucille’s famous balls, from the railings of the balcony above the ballroom.

“Did you attend any?” he asks.

“A few,” she admits.

“What were they like?”

She casts her mind back again. “The usual. Dancing and gossiping. Not as bad as Orlais, but still. It was traditional to wear armour. Formal armour, in silverite and gold. Not just the men. The ladies would wear jewelled breastplates over their gowns, or elaborate bracelets and shoulder pieces that resembled gauntlets and pauldrons. Necklaces and gloves made of delicate chainmail, finely woven. Hair-pieces made to look like tiny helmets. All manner of things. And red. A lot of flowing red silk, to look like blood, I think.”

He takes another draught of his wine, a smile on his face. Is he imagining the ball, or _her_ at the ball, she wonders.

“I wore armour,” she adds. “Real armour. As much of it as I was allowed to get away with. If a dragon had attacked me, I would have been protected, unlike most of the women there.”

He grins. “I don’t doubt it. Did you take a sword and shield too?”

A memory returns to her, being fifteen years old and told by her uncle that it was unladylike to wear a longsword to a dance. Even one with such a finely embossed hilt. She had fashioned a scabbard that would fit down her spine, the hilt becoming a sort of fancy decoration between her shoulder blades, bared by the cut of the silk tunic her uncle insisted she wear instead of her gambeson.

(She might even have got away with it if the length of the sword hadn’t made it impossible for her to enter and sit down in the carriage.)

“I tried,” she says instead.

He smiles, hand slipping into hers. “We should hold one. At Skyhold, next winter. I’ll let you wear whatever you want. Full plate and _two_ swords, if you wish.”

She smiles back at him. “Oh? And what would you wear?”

His face turns very serious, and he shifts slightly to look her square in the face. “Flowing red silk and jewelled… pauldrons, I think. My shoulders _are_ one of my best features. Perhaps some elbow-length chainmail gloves too? Oh, and what was it you said, tiny helmet hair-pieces? One of those too. I think that would look very fetching.”

She can’t help raising an eyebrow, and his face breaks into a grin as he leans forward to kiss her.

“Well, _I_ think it would,” he says against her lips.

In response, she loops her arm around his neck and tugs until they both collapse onto the blanket, him bracketed above her, mouth pressed against hers.

“So, is that a yes?” he asks eventually, when she finally lets them take a breath.

“To the ball or the outfit?”

“Either. Both.”

“Yes.”

His face lights up with mischief. “Vivienne is going to have a _field day_ , and I will be sure to let her know that it was all your idea.”

She knows she should worry about that, because if Brennan does indeed tell Vivienne about the ball, it will take less than no time for Josephine to find out, and then Leliana, and then before she knows it, the invitations will have been sent out and it will be a foregone conclusion. But strangely, lying here in his arms, she cannot bring herself to care.

He brushes his nose against hers, kissing her once and then again, and then he pulls back, glancing out at the frozen river.

“If we want to do any more skating, we ought to get to it. I… I haven’t actually done any of my preparations yet, and you know how crabby Vivienne gets when she has to wait around in the mornings when we travel. Last time I kept her waiting, Commander Helaine made me do barrier drills for six hours straight. She swore the two things weren’t connected, but… well… you know.”

She smiles, silently wondering what she had done for the Maker to have blessed her with such a man, and then nods.

“Let’s see if we can make it all the way around the island.”

His eyes glint, pushing himself to his feet far faster than she was expecting.

“I’ll race you!”

She does.

(She wins. He rewards her with a kiss.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone. Thought I'd slip this one in before the end of the year (where I am, at any rate). Here's to a gentle and fruitful 2021!!!


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